Down the road and past the street Cobblestones appear to greet Tired, restless, weary feet They will all appear to me People on their way to work Some are bankers, some are clerks All have simple, little lives They're all set and they all hate their wives Underneath all people smile Underlying the sense of guile Back and forth we grow ourselves To [?] books and [?] shelves I can't help but think that sometimes There is nothing back here for me What does that mean How will I talk when I'm out there Up above high in the sky Where aeroplanes they swoop and fly People look through small windows At the landscape far below I can't help but think that sometimes There is nothing for me back here No sound in space What does that mean How will I talk when I'm out there